Second Breakfast
by Lywinis
Summary: Sebastian hated it when she gave him that Look.


Second Breakfast

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Sebastian hated it when Celeste got that look. She would glance at him from under lowered lashes, worrying her lower lip between her teeth, and it was all he could do to keep from throwing her under the quilt and having his way with her. That Look (for it had taken on quite a bit of significance for him) meant trouble. She was plotting something, he could tell.

She was giving him the Look at this very moment, and he risked a peek at her from the corner of his eye as he stretched. The day had just begun and he was tempted to laze in bed with her in homage to the rake he had been. The Look was only making the desire to keep her soft curves pliant under his palms for the rest of the day more enticing. Her bottom lip was now rosy from her worrisome teeth, and he leaned over to soothe it with a kiss.

"Copper for your thoughts, sweetling." He knew he would pay for it; he always did. But he knew the price would be higher if he didn't ask. In for a silver, in for a sovereign.

A slow smile spread across her face; it was wicked, wanton, and it had the desired effect. Her hands slid into his hair, and he let out a low growl as her blunt nails scraped his scalp, sending tingles down his spine and into his belly. His mouth slanted over hers and his hand slid across her stomach, skittering up her rib cage to cup her pert breast. He broke the kiss, enjoying the feel of her. One of her hands skimmed his chest, running through the sprinkling of hair there.

"I want breakfast," she said, her voice a silky purr that sent another jolt of heat straight through him. Her fingers walked down his chest toward his belly, drawing small circles along the taut flesh there. He bit back another growl and ran his thumb over her nipple, delighting in the way it peaked from his attention.

"Breakfast? Already? You've barely been out of bed a moment." His lips moved to her neck, worrying a mark he had left some time before. He heard her breathy sigh, and redoubled his efforts, teasing his tongue along her pulse point before speaking again. "I suppose I could rouse myself enough to cook something this morning."

"Do I have to convince you?" she gave him the Look again, and he held up his hands in surrender.

"My lady, you have slain me." He placed a mocking hand over his heart. "This poor vanquished soul lives to cater to your whims."

She laughed at the crooked smile he gave her and ran a fingertip along the trail of hair that swept down his belly toward his groin. He gave a small groan and shivered at the contact, but he was disappointed when she stopped, that wicked gleam in her eyes again.

"Let's just say if you bring me a plate of waffles with syrup, you will be suitably rewarded." She settled back against the pillows, her smile inviting. He reached for her, but she held up a finger, tutting at him. "Breakfast first."

He sighed, but he knew how the game was played. He sought out his pants from where they'd been peeled off last night and padded to the kitchen.

One burned thumb later, he was not in such a genial mood. His temper was short, but he stalked back into the room with a covered tray and went to the wash basin to scrub the batter from himself. As he drew the towel down off of his dripping face, he caught sight of what had caused him to burn himself in the first place: Celeste had drizzled the waffles in a light coating of syrup, and with a flash of pink tongue licked a drop of syrup from her fingertip.

She caught him looking. Her movement slowed, the long sweep of her tongue exaggerated for his benefit until the agony of watching her do it was too much. He set the tray aside, pinning her to the quilt with a growl. She smirked at him, letting him capture her mouth as he tasted the lingering sweetness of the offending droplet. Her knee rose and caressed his side, bringing the heat of her closer to him as she lifted her hips to meet his.

"You tease," he said, his voice low and husky with want as he broke the kiss to look into those eyes that could unman him in a moment. "If I didn't know you better, I'd think you quite the minx."

Green light limned his thumb and he felt the pain of the burn ease as she smiled that damnable smile. She picked up his hand and with torturous precision, slid his index finger into her mouth, her tongue sending small shocks through his system as she suckled. He hissed a breath through his teeth and closed his eyes, relishing the sensation.

She hummed around his finger, releasing it after a moment to push on his chest. He obliged her, shifting off of her to lie on his back. That Look again. He knew he was going to pay for that Look, but he could not help himself. He waited.

His eyebrows rose into his hairline as she reached for the jar of syrup. The white porcelain mug hovered over his chest, winking in the morning sunlight. With a small flourish, she tipped the mug to the side for a brief moment, allowing the amber liquid enough time to drizzle in a gleaming line across his chest.

Warm and sticky, the syrup was not uncomfortable, and the heat in her eyes as she watched the beads coalesce on him was enough to still his protests. She leaned forward, that slip of pink darting out to lap at the sweetness there, and he felt his breath hitch. Her tongue laved him clean, leaving him slick before she blew a gentle breath across the wetness she had left behind. His eyes slid closed as she did, feeling the goosebumps erupt on his arms.

"I said I wanted breakfast," she murmured, tipping the jar again and letting another stream of syrup drizzle onto the hard plane of his stomach, pooling against an old scar. She traced this with her tongue, causing his hips to surge upward as she dipped close to where his trousers stopped. "I plan to get it."

His breathing had risen to a steady pant, and he had to force himself to allow her to do as she pleased. She met his mouth with her own, letting him taste the rich velvet sweetness. He let her drizzle another line of syrup along his chest before he'd had enough. He was already hard and aching from the want of her, and he caught the wrist holding the jar even as her other palm splayed out on his stomach. He took the syrup from her, setting it on the bedside table.

He surged from where he lay, flipping her onto her back and kneeling between her legs. He felt the syrup sliding down his chest in a slow rivulet, and he dipped his fingertips in the sticky mess, running those same fingers across one of her nipples. He was delighted when she gave a small moan and arched against his touch, her nipple stiffening into a sharp peak under his sugary fingers. He bent and suckled the residue from her breast, his clean hand sliding between her thighs to brush against the vee of curls there. When she bucked, he slid his sticky index finger past her lips and felt her tongue clean him with a slow, curling stroke.

He rewarded her by sliding his finger into her sheath with a firm thrust, and she whimpered around his finger. He replaced it with his mouth, his thumb circling the small bud of flesh that sent her hips jerking into his palm. He let his smirk be felt as he kissed her again and again, leaving her breathless.

The remaining syrup on his chest had transferred to hers as he covered her, his fingers still working that inexorable rhythm. She mewled and thrashed beneath him, the friction broken by the pull of syrup-drenched skin. He removed his hand and shucked his trousers, kicking them from the bed in his frenzy to hilt himself inside her. He sank into her heat, his thumb once again filling the space between them as he moved, her hips snapping up to meet his rolling thrusts, and her cries swallowed by his mouth as he drank in the taste of syrup on her tongue.

She gave a shudder and flexed her hips, tightening around him even as his thrusts grew more erratic. He bit down on her neck as she gave a wail, her nails buried in his back. She went over the edge, and he spiraled with her, his shout muffled by the curvature of her neck as he spilled himself deep within her. He panted, spent, and balanced himself on his forearms until he could roll away and tuck her into the crook of his shoulder. She trembled against him, still sticky, but sated.

"You've forgotten about your waffles entirely," he murmured against her ear.

A breathless chuckle. "I'm full now. Maybe I'll eat them later."

Sebastian hated it when Celeste gave him that Look. It meant trouble, but for all the warning bells, he could never refuse her. He raised a hand to his head and grimaced as it came away tacky.

Maker, he'd gotten syrup in his _hair_.

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A/N: This was a dare. That'll teach you. **CHALLENGE ACCEPTED.**

ilu guys. :D

Limerick time!

There once was a prince from Starkhaven,  
Who ran into the comeliest maiden  
His heart took a tumble,  
Now it's he who's in trouble,  
She's become quite the sexual maven.


End file.
